Human Oddities
by Bridgie
Summary: An older fanfic based on Disney's Hunchback of Notre Dame. Mostly Clopin-centric, with a smattering of original characters that should not be too annoying to purists. Chapter 3 is up.
1. Missing Persons

Author's Note/Disclaimer: The characters of Clopin, Esmeralda, Frollo, and Quasimodo are based on Disney's version of the Hunchback of Notre Dame. They don't belong to me, and I have a feeling if they did there's be a zillion fangirls attacking me for Clopin in particular, so I'm grateful. I wrote this story for my adopted sister, Kocho (not her real name), a few years ago(1999, to be exact), and I haven't edited it since. I like to think my writing has matured since then, so the style may not be quite what you're used to from me (assuming, of course, you're used to anything at all from me), but I think it's still entertaining. All characters in the story save the abovementioned four belong to me and should not be used in anything without my permission. Oh, also beware of anachronisms and inaccurate portrayal of gypsies ahead. It's based on Disney, after all.

_

* * *

_

_Oh, wrap my eyes with linen fair,_

_With hempen cord go bind me,_

_And, of your mercy, leave me there,_

_Nor tell them where to find me._

_Oh, lock the portal as you go,_

_And see its bolts be double…._

_Come back in half and hour or so,_

_And I will be in trouble._

_---Dorothy Parker, "Portrait of the Artist"_

Paris, 1481. A mild winter had faded into a soft spring. The night air still bore a bite from the north wind, but the turn of the season had begun to coax a few wildflowers from their below-ground sanctuaries. It had managed to coax a few gypsies from their safe haven, as well. The Court of Miracles was always less crowded in the spring and summer months. The more nomadic residents began their wanderings anew after a winter's stopover, and, despite the warnings of the _rom baro_, Clopin, there were always a few adventurous youths that dared to sleep outdoors in the pleasant weather. Some would be picked up by Judge Frollo's soldiers for loitering. It was an inconvenience, and occasionally a detainee would get roughed up on the way to prison, but the penalty was never more than a day or two in jail, even for the persecuted gypsies, so Clopin rarely worried about missing persons until he heard definitive news on them. On this occasion, however, the missing person was special.

Clopin had missed Pylades early in the morning, and had spent the day searching the Court for news of him. No one knew where he had gone. No one had seen him. No one had heard rumors of an arrest. He had vanished without a trace. There was something sinister in this, reflected Clopin. Men don't just disappear. Especially not when they're Pylades. That was the main thing that worried him. If it were anyone else, he could have safely assumed the absent party had met a pretty woman willing to show him a good time. But Pylades was not that sort. Responsible, stolid man, Pylades. And loyal as death. That was why Clopin relied on him, why he had made him his right-hand man, why he had put him in charge of the Skeleton Guard, the men who stood perpetual watch over the secret entrances to the Court of Miracles. And that was the other thing that worried him. That Pylades might betray him never occurred to him. But that Pylades might himself have been betrayed, that was a possibility. And Pylades knew everything Clopin himself did. Everything. The names of the guards, the locations of every entrance, every twist and turn of the Court tunnels. And if he had been captured--hideous thought--he would be a real Christmas present in April for Judge Claude Frollo.

At last, the _rom baro_ could no longer stand the suspense. He sought out one of the only other persons he trusted implicitly. He found her in a side tunnel, practicing a new dance step.

"Esmeralda," he called out softly.

She whirled gracefully on her toes and dropped into a split before him. "Hello, Clopin. Any news about Pylades, yet?"

"No one knows anything."

She looked up at him sympathetically. "I'm sure he'll turn up soon."

"Are you really? I am not. I don't like this at all."

The pretty dancer nodded soberly. "I know what you mean. But what can you do about it? You'll drive yourself mad if you keep fretting like this."

"I'm going out to look for him."

Esmeralda started and struggled to her feet with less than her customary grace. "No, Clopin, don't. You can't be serious. It's too dangerous!"

"I go out every morning, do I not?"

"Performing puppet shows in front of the cathedral is entirely different from skulking through the streets at night. If they catch you..."

"They won't. They never have."

"Clopin, please!"

"You are in charge until I get back." And before she could utter another word of protest he was gone.

It was nearly midnight, and the streets were silent except for faint strains of music floating up from the taverns. Clopin drew his dark cloak closer around him. He planned to head quietly for a bridge near Notre Dame under which he knew there were always a few gypsies sleeping. When he had talked to all the gypsies he could find, he knew a few _gadje_ he could turn to for information. Some were actually allies. Others were such sworn enemies of Frollo that they might as well be. Still others would find out anything for you if you paid them enough. At any rate, the Clopin had no intention of returning to the Court of Miracles before he found out what he needed to know.

He should have stayed among the back streets. Under normal circumstances, he would never have been so foolhardy as to step into a main thoroughfare at night, when the soldiers were most actively on the lookout for gypsies, but he was in a hurry. He was also distracted. Otherwise they would never have gotten the drop on him.

"Stop! You, Gypsy!" shouted a rough voice suddenly.

Clopin whirled to face the voice, and in just that fraction of a second the soldiers were upon him. There were three of them, each one nearly twice his size. The closest struck at him with a dagger, and he instinctively flung up his right arm to shield his head from the blow. The blade slashed deeply into his exposed side.

He covered the bleeding wound with his left hand and, cursing with pain, flung himself at his attacker. The man was already off balance from striking the blow, and he fell over backwards with a yelp of surprise. Clopin somersaulted over his fallen enemy and, dodging between the other two soldiers, sprinted into an alleyway.

For the briefest of moments he stood panting, watching a red spot appear on his tunic, then he heard the sounds of pursuit and was forced to run again. He was a swift runner, but he was bleeding badly, and he could feel himself weakening, even as he heard the soldiers gaining. With a vague sense of despair, he realized he needed to find a place to rest for a moment and stop the bleeding, even at the risk of being trapped by the guards. Otherwise he would soon fall from exhaustion.

He led his pursuers through a series of tortuous alleyways, putting forth a final burst of speed, then, with them out of sight for the moment, he doubled back on his trail. He cast about frantically for a place to duck out of sight. Glancing to the right of him, he became aware that he had paused near an abandoned tavern. Blessing his luck, he released his injured side for a moment, leaped, and caught the edge of the low roof with both hands. The effort he expended in pulling himself onto the tavern roof was so consuming he failed to notice the small pool of blood he left on the ground below him. He crawled to the center of the roof, his head swimming, his heart pounding painfully, and lay still for a moment to catch his breath, oblivious to his surroundings.

The voices of the soldiers brought him back to reality. "We know you're up there, Gypsy!" shouted one. "You have ten minutes to climb back down, or we'll get you down the hard way!"

He raised his head weakly. He thought he heard the twang of a bow being strung. Ten minutes. It was no use. He was too dizzy. They had him this time. No! He gritted his teeth. If he could just stop the bleeding, he might still be able to get away over the roof tops. As he struggled to sit up, he felt a hand on his shoulder. The hand helped him lean back against something that felt flat and hard, like a wooden box. Thoroughly confused now, he stared dumbly at the hand, then followed the arm it was attached to up to the shoulder, then the smiling face of a teenaged boy.

"Pardon me, sir," said the boy, "but might I borrow your hat and cloak for a moment?"

Clopin moaned despairingly. Now he was hallucinating.

"I'll take that as a yes." said the boy cheerfully, and gently removed the aforementioned items of clothing.

Was he being robbed, now? Clopin wondered as he watched the boy place the feathered hat upon his head. How humiliating. The king of the gypsies goes out to save his captain of the guard and ends up wounded, robbed, and in Frollo's dungeon.

As if reading his mind, the boy grinned at him and said, "Oh don't worry, I'll give them right back.."

The soldiers' voices floated up from below. "You've got five minutes, Gypsy!"

The boy glanced in the direction of the voices, then back at Clopin. "You really should be more careful who you go out at night with, sir. Shouldn't he, Henri?"

A different voice answered the boy from behind Clopin's head. "Marcel, if you're going, go. Before they set fire to the building."

The gypsy managed to turn his head enough to see the speaker, a man about his own age, with sharp, almond-shaped eyes and blondish curls.

"Alright, I'm going, I'm going," grinned the boy Marcel.

"Good," replied Henri, "And try not to get shot, will you?"

Clopin turned back to the boy, wondering what would happen next. Marcel crawled on all fours to the edge of the roof and peered over at the soldiers. Then he stood up.

"Hey!" he shouted, "Are you three coming up or not? Because I'm not coming down!"

Then he took several steps back, ran forward, and leaped over the alley and onto the roof of the next building.

The soldiers below gave a yell of surprise. "There he goes!" exclaimed one, "I didn't know he still had it in him to jump like that."

"After losing all that blood, he shouldn't," answered another.

"Witchcraft?" suggested the third.

Clopin, as well, stared after the boy in amazement. He himself was quite an acrobat, and he knew how difficult it was to make a leap of that magnitude. Marcel stuck his head over the edge of the other roof and called out to the soldiers again, "Catch me if you can!"

The youth then began to run across the rooftop in plain view of the soldiers. An arrow whistled past his head. "Watch the hat!" he shouted.

Clopin felt a sudden pang of fear for the lad. True, most of the soldiers were poor shots, but he was taking quite a chance all the same. And what on earth for? As he watched, Marcel made another tremendous leap onto another roof, this time somersaulting through the air as he leapt. The fear was replaced with admiration. He had seen spectacular gymnasts perform before, but never under such duress. At the same time he realized the shouts from the soldiers were growing fainter. They were following the boy.

"Who'd have thought he was such a quick little bugger?" the first soldier complained.

"Keep running!" snapped the second soldier. "We'll head him off somewhere. He can't keep that up for too long, the way he's bleeding..."

Clopin sat up straighter with a shock of realization, "He is leading them off!"

"Yeah," replied the other stranger, Henri, walking casually around to sit in front of the gypsy, "It's good practice for him. He's been bored lately. That's why we're out here tonight. Lucky for you, eh?"

Clopin stared at him suspiciously. "Why would you help me? I don't even know you."

"Wasn't my idea. You can ask Marcel. He'll be back soon if those soldiers are as dumb as I think they are. In the meantime, you'd better let me look at that gash in your side."

The gypsy eyed his savior dubiously. He wasn't accustomed to being indebted to _gadje_, and he didn't care for the feeling thus far. "I am fine," he said, "I just needed to catch my breath."

Henri snorted. "Horse manure," he scoffed, "Look at yourself, you're lying in a pool of your own blood. Its a wonder you haven't passed out yet. Now let me see." He pushed Clopin's arm aside, and the gypsy found that he hadn't enough strength to resist the examination, whether he would or no. The blond stranger grimaced. "Bad one. Looks deep. Still bleeding, too. You're going to need stitches. Hang on a minute, I have a roll of bandages with me, I think I can stop the blood, at least."

Clopin stared straight ahead sullenly as Henri bound strips of cloth about his ribs.

"There. Does it hurt?"

"Not much. It is numb now."

"Lucky then, aren't you?"

"Not tonight." Clopin sighed miserably.

"Cheer up," said a by now familiar voice, "I ditched the soldiers for you.. They'll be looking for you for the rest of the night. Here's your clothes back."

Marcel landed in front of them and replaced Clopin's hat and cloak, then sat cross-legged in front of him.

"How bad is he, Henri?" he asked his companion.

"Very. We're going to have to take him back with us."

Clopin scowled. "Look," he said, irritated, "I may be indisposed at the moment, but that is no excuse for you to talk about me as if I were not here. What do you want with me, anyway?"

Marcel turned to him. "Not very grateful, are you? We probably just saved your life."

"Thank you _very_ much," snapped Clopin, "but I cannot help wondering why you are so concerned about me."

Marcel gave a little half-smile and leaned closer to the gypsy. "Can't you tell?" he asked, "Usually other _rom_ can, even though I'm not full-blooded. Of course, it is dark out here. _Tacho rat_, my friend. True blood."

Clopin started and looked closer at the boy. He was paler than most gypsies, but his eyes and hair were black, and the bone structure of his face spoke plainly of a gypsy heritage. But if he was a gypsy, living in Paris, how was it that Clopin had never seen him? Even the _rom _that were banned from the Court of Miracles were well known to Clopin. And what was the boy doing with the _gadjo_, Henri? The gypsy king's pain and dizziness redoubled, the objects around him blurred, and he became aware that he was shivering. This was way too much for one night. He closed his eyes in protest.

"Henri!" exclaimed Marcel, alarmed, "what's wrong with him?"

"He's going into shock. We need to get him out of here. We'll take him back to camp."

Clopin could hear their voices, as if they were echoes from another world, but he felt too drowsy to respond, even to ask where 'camp' was and why he was being taken there. He felt them lifting him and transferring him carefully from the rooftop to the ground.

"What about the trunk?" asked Marcel's disembodied voice.

"We can't carry it too. Forget the trunk. We'll send Joffrin back to get it later."

Joffrin? thought Clopin, Is this another gypsy I knew nothing about? And with that thought, he sank gratefully into oblivion.

* * *

In her tent in the Court of Miracles, Esmeralda paced back and forth. First Pylades, now Clopin. Was this some sort of masterstroke devised by Frollo? No, it couldn't be, he wasn't that clever. But the fact remained that the king of the gypsies had not returned home. 

What was going on?! Clopin had never been captured before. He was better at eluding the guards than all the rest of them put together. But surely he would have returned home by now unless something had happened to him.

She resisted the urge to go looking for him. That was what had gotten him into trouble, obviously. Last in the chain of command, she couldn't take the chance of leaving the Court leaderless. If only she knew who the spies were, she could send them out to look for him. But Clopin kept their identities secret. Pylades was the only other one who knew. Pylades! It kept coming back around to him. If she could find Pylades, maybe she would find Clopin, as well.

Hopefully, they were both alive.

A small, brown hand drew aside the flap of her tent, and a round face peeped in, "Esmeralda?" said a childish voice, "Tristan and Kocho are back. But I can't find Clopin to tell him. Do you know where he is?"

She turned to the little boy in her doorway. "Clopin went out last night, Felipe," she answered, forcing a smile, "He hasn't come back yet. He told me to look after things while he's gone."

"Oh. Well, Tristan says they have something important to tell him."

"Thank you, Felipe. I'll come out to see them right away."

The little face nodded and withdrew, and she followed it into the heart of the Court of Miracles, the open space before Clopin's tent. Standing there wearily were two teenaged gypsies, a girl and a boy, each surrounded by friends and well-wishers welcoming them. The girl was petite, with an air of suppressed energy about her. Her hair was in a single, tight, glossy black braid. That was Kocho. The boy next to her was Tristan. To call him skinny would have been a kindness. He was unusually tall and reedy, with legs as thin as twigs. His hair was dark brown and unruly, and his clothes were little more than brightly colored rags, but he had a good-natured twinkle in his eyes.

Esmeralda shoved her way through the throng and stopped before the arrivals. "Clopin's not here," she told them shortly, "I'm in charge. Where have you been, and what do you have to say?"

Kocho and Tristan looked at each other. "We'd rather tell you in private," said the boy quietly.

Esmeralda bit her lower lip. Secret news, she knew, was never good news. At the same time, a vague hope that they might have seen Clopin rose within her.

"Okay," she said, "Follow me." And she ducked inside the absent king's tent.

Kocho sat down on a folding stool in the corner of the room. Tristan remained standing, looking uncomfortable. Esmeralda perched herself on the edge of Clopin's cot and crossed her arms. "Talk," she said.

The boy glanced down at his bare feet. "Well, see, what happened," he began, "is we heard about the carnival and we wanted to see it, but of course we never got there..."

"Slow down," said Esmeralda. "What carnival?"

"I was out buying bread and I heard some women talking about it," said Kocho, "They said there were lots of trained animals there. And that one of the men had thirty earrings in his ears. But since some of the men were gypsies they wouldn't let them in the city."

"So," continued Tristan, "I thought we could go talk to them and if they were trustworthy maybe Clopin would let them stay here."

"And I wanted to see the animals," put in the girl.

"So we decided to go out and look for them a couple of nights ago."

"And did you find them?" asked Esmeralda.

"We headed for the city gates, but some guards stopped us on the way and we got arrested. We spent the past three days in the Palace dungeons, and--"

Kocho interrupted her friend, "Oh, Esmeralda, it was awful! There were spiders. And I could hear scratching in the walls. I just know there were rats there." She shuddered.

Tristan grinned at her. "Kocho, if there had been rats there, we would have seen them. Trust me. Rats are not shy."

"I hate rats."

Esmeralda shifted impatiently, "Did you find out anything other than the fact that there might be rats in the Palace of Justice?"

Tristan looked at her sorrowfully. "We found Pylades."

"What?! What happened? How did he get there? Was he injured?"

Kocho stood up and walked over to Esmeralda. "They keep the men and women in separate cells. And there were no other girls there, so I was all alone in my cell. One night I was trying to sleep, except I couldn't because of the scratching in the walls. And I heard voices coming from down the hall. I looked out through a crack in the door, and I saw two soldiers walking down the hall with Pylades in between them. I could just barely see his face. It looked a little bruised, like they might have hit him, but he was struggling against them and cursing at the top of his lungs, so he can't have been hurt too badly. Anyway, he told them that they would never be able to keep him locked up, that they had no just reason to arrest him. But they only laughed and said that they knew he was the Gypsy King's right-hand man, and that he wasn't going anywhere except the gallows. He struggled even harder then, and I almost thought he was going to get away, but they twisted his arm round behind him and made him be still. Then they dragged him the rest of the way down the hall and disappeared into another room. They came back out, but Pylades didn't."

Esmeralda wrung her hands. "Do you know what room it was? Did they lock him up? Do you think he's still alive?"

The girl shook her head. "I didn't hear any noises from the room, so I don't think they...hurt him. They might have locked him up somewhere secret."

Esmeralda's shoulders drooped. "If he tells them what he knows, we're finished."

Tristan sat down beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "He won't tell them anything, Esmeralda. They can threaten him all they want. He won't talk. You know how Pylades is. And they can't do any thing worse than threaten him. Rome forbids torture."

"And even Frollo isn't about to go against the Church," added Kocho.

Esmeralda shook her raven hair despondently. "It's still a terrible blow to us. Poor Pylades." After a moment she looked up at them with worry written plainly in her emerald eyes. "While you were gone...last night, especially...you didn't happen to...see Clopin?"

Tristan shook his head. Kocho turned pale. "You don't mean...he's not missing is he?"

"I'm afraid so. He went out to look for Pylades. He hasn't come back yet."

"Oh, no! Why did he go? Why didn't you stop him?"

"I tried," Esmeralda snapped, "Believe me."

"We have to go look for him! He could be hurt...Let me go out looking for him," pleaded the girl, "You won't miss me at all, and I can go on--"

Esmeralda cut her off, "Absolutely not. No one, but no one, is to leave this place without my approval. Especially after dark. Clopin can take care of himself. We just have to trust that he'll come home to us. Now I want both of you to go to bed and rest. You've had a rough time."

"But, Esmeralda---!"

"Hush, Kocho. You two have done quite enough in finding Pylades. Clopin will be very pleased with you if he...when he gets back."

Esmeralda shooed the two youths back to their tents, then returned to her own home. She didn't share her fears with any of the others. It was no use worrying them. She, on the other hand, would spend the rest of the day pacing.

* * *

So ends Chapter 1 of 4. I'll put up the rest over the next few days. 


	2. Freak Show

Author's Note/Disclaimer: Disclaimer and warnings from Chapter 1 still apply. Additionally, beware of cheesy jokes.

* * *

When Clopin came to, he thought he was at home. The cot he was lying on was the same type he himself possessed. The ceiling above him was brightly colored cloth, a tent. And he caught a faint scent of some sort of broth cooking, a common smell in the Court of Miracles. But the person who was sitting on the stool by his bed was like no one he had ever seen before.

The person was wearing a bright, flowered skirt, an orange shirt, and a canary yellow bodice. The person's hair was long, flowing, and blond, and the person had several beaded necklaces and a pair of gold earrings set with sky blue stones. The person also had a luxuriant beard.

Clopin stared for a moment, wondering whether he should address this apparition as 'sir' or 'madam'. The stranger saved him the trouble.

"Oh, good," it exclaimed in a deep baritone, "You're awake. I'll go get Marcel."

Then it exited the tent.

The recent events came crashing down on him, along with a vicious headache. He wondered how far from home Marcel and Henri had taken him. He groaned unhappily and placed his hand over his eyes.

"Careful," came a voice from the doorway, "You don't want to pull the stitches out."

Clopin glanced to the side and saw Marcel enter, followed by Henri and the strange person he had seen moments ago.

"Where in God's name am I?" he asked the boy.

"You're safe. Don't worry. You're in our camp. We dressed your wound, and you should be well enough to walk in a day or two."

"A day or two?!" choked the gypsy, "I can't stay here that long! I have to find Pylades, and Esmeralda is--" he struggled to sit up.

"No you don't!" said Henri, rushing forward to push him back into a horizontal position, "If you don't lie still, the stitches will pop loose and you'll start bleeding again. Besides, I doubt you're strong enough to walk yet."

Clopin glared at him, but returned to his resting position. Marcel approached his side. "If you'll tell us where to find your family, we'll be glad to tell them where you are, and that you're safe."

"It isn't that simple. I...I'm responsible to more people than you can imagine."

"Then you are a _rom baro_. I thought so. The earring gave you away."

Clopin touched the small gold hoop in his ear. It had more meaning to him than a badge of leadership, but the fact that the boy knew what a single earring meant suggested that he had been telling the truth when he had called himself a gypsy. He nodded at Marcel.

"What I don't understand," continued the boy, "is where your people are. I've only seen one or two gypsies in Paris, and they were being arrested."

Clopin smiled. "We hide well," he replied, "We have to. But where are your people?" He looked at Marcel keenly, "I have seen you only with _gadje _so far."

Marcel flushed a little. "These are my people," he said hotly, "Henri here, and Gizelle, and all the others in the carnival."

A carnival, thought Clopin. So that was it. It explained a great deal. One of the few places gypsies and non-gypsies managed to work well together was in a traveling carnival.

"I see," he answered, "You're travelers, then. Just arrived here? That explains why I don't recognize you. And if there are both gypsies and _gadje_ here, that explains why I've never seen you in the Court of Miracles. Only a few _gadje _are permitted there."

"And why is that?" asked Henri, a bit defensively.

"Because so many of them are spies for the Judge." replied Clopin with a smirk.

"Listen," began Henri angrily, "I haven't done anything to make you think ill of me. Quite the opposite, in fact. If you're going to behave like this--"

"Henri, hush." said the strange person, stepping up toward the three of them. "The man's tired and among strangers. If you had been hunted like he has, you'd be wary, too. Try not to be so defensive."

The stranger's voice was deep and soothing, and Henri seemed mollified by it. The strange person smiled and patted him on the arm, then turned to Clopin with the words, "I'm Gizelle. Nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine...uh, sir? Madam?" Clopin stumbled over the words, feeling foolish.

Gizelle chuckled. "Everyone asks that. I'm a sir if you insist on being formal, but most people just call me Gizelle. Or even Zelly. I'm the carnival's bearded lady."

"Except that he's not a lady," put in Marcel.

"But he does a damn good impression of one," added Henri.

"And your name is...?" continued Gizelle.

"Clopin Trouillefou, King of the Parisian gypsies, at your service. Pardon my earlier remarks. I'm a bit disoriented."

"Nothing to apologize for," said Zelly with a wave of his hand, "I understand. You can't trust anyone these days. But now, gentlemen, if you'll excuse me, I must change for my performance. I'm on in less than an hour."

"Could you send Jorg in here, Zelly?" asked Marcel. "I think M. Trouillefou would be more at ease if he met him."

"As if anyone could be at ease around Jorg. Alright, love, I'll send him in." Gizelle winked at Clopin and left.

"Jorg runs the carnival," the boy explained, "I think he'll want to see you anyway, since you have to stay here, but he's a gypsy, too. Full-blooded."

"How many of you are there?" asked the gypsy king.

"There's eight of us in all, unless you count the animals. Three _rom_, including me, four _gadje_, and...Gannick."

"Gannick?"

"Our Dog-Faced Man. He's so covered with hair, its impossible to tell whether or not he's a gypsy"

"You'll like him," put in Henri, "He's very sweet and quiet. Everyone who gets to know him likes him."

"A Dog-Faced Man," murmured Clopin thoughtfully, "An Acrobat. And a Bearded Lady who isn't really a lady. I can see my convalescence is going to be interesting."

"We aim to please," chuckled the boy.

"And what do you do?" Clopin asked Henri. He was beginning to enjoy his surroundings in spite of himself.

"Well," began the blond man with a sly smile, "They call me the 'Human Pincushion'"

"Show him the jewelry, Henri," grinned Marcel.

Henri swept back his blond curls with one hand, revealing his ears, which were adorned with at least ten earrings apiece. He also had a slender gold hoop running through his right eyebrow. After displaying both ears, he stuck out his tongue, which had a gold stud in the tip.

"And you don't even want to know what else I have pierced. My talent is that I don't feel pain. Ever. So I get up on stage and hammer a nail into my chest, lick a red hot iron bar, that sort of thing. You'd be amazed how many people pay to see it."

"Rather ghoulish. But what about bleeding and scars?"

"Well, with a little practice you learn not to hit a vein. And if I miss I heal pretty quickly."

"He's also an escape artist," said Marcel.

Henri smiled. "Trying to be, anyway."

"You're halfway to being a gypsy, then," remarked Clopin dryly.

"So I'm told."

* * *

In her own tiny tent, Kocho tossed and turned. She was exhausted, but she couldn't sleep. Clopin was missing. _Clopin_. How could anyone rest knowing that? She understood why Esmeralda wanted them all to stay underground. But in the meantime, something bad could be happening to their king. She remembered Pylades' bruised face and clenched her fists. If any of those soldiers hurt Clopin, they'd pay.

Soldiers...guards...gypsies...images did a slow ballet through her mind. If none of the Court gypsies were allowed to go above ground to look for Clopin, maybe there were other gypsies that could. Other gypsies.

She sat bolt upright. Of course! The carnival. If she hadn't been so exhausted, it would have occurred to her sooner. The gypsies in the carnival might help. Well, they'd have to wouldn't they? Wasn't there some unwritten rule that a gypsy has to help one of his own kind in need? She frowned and shook her head a little. So few people followed the old rules these days. She knew one thing everybody listened to, though. There was a little box under her cot. It had a lock on it, and inside it was everything of value she owned. She opened it now and took out her money and her gold earrings. If the carnival gypsies wouldn't help search for her king for the sake of blood loyalty, she was sure she could convince them with gold. She just hoped she would be able to pay them enough. She had never been particularly well-off.

Kocho wrapped her valuables in a brown scarf and dropped the bundle down the front of her tunic. It would be safe there until she needed it. She quietly slipped out of her tent and into a side tunnel. She knew exactly where the guards in the tunnel hid themselves, and she was able to creep along quietly enough to avoid drawing their attention. Soon she was on the Paris street. She took a deep breath and looked around her.

Now, to find the carnival.

* * *

"Welcome to my Freak Show, M. Trouillefou," said Jorg companionably, "I trust you're enjoying your stay thus far?"

Clopin grinned at the carnival manager. Jorg was a charming, charismatic man, with cool green eyes, an unusually handsome face, and three arms. The extra arm, which sprouted from the right side of the man's torso, was slightly smaller than the other two, but was fully functional. At this moment, it was offering Clopin a glass of wine, which he politely refused. As Jorg set the glass on a wooden table nearby, the golden band on the third arm glistened.

"I've been enjoying myself immensely, Monsieur," replied the gypsy king, "but for the lamentable fact that I am not permitted to leave my bed."

"Not permitted? Why, sir, in my carnival you may do anything you like. Besides which, I would very much like to show you around."

"He shouldn't be moved until the wound has knitted more," began Henri.

Jorg clicked his tongue. "Let us let M. Trouillefou decide when he has healed enough to receive the grand tour. He's a grown man. I'm sure he's quite capable of telling us how he's feeling."

"I'm a very quick healer," smiled Clopin, "And I've been aching to get up and move around. Besides which, I'm unutterably curious about your performers."

"It's settled, then! Henri, Marcel, help M. Trouillefou out of bed at once."

Supported by his two rescuers, Clopin slowly sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the cot. Immediately a wave of dizziness struck him, and he shut his eyes tightly.

"I told you you'd still be weak," said Henri.

"I'm fine," protested the gypsy king, "I've had worse wounds than this. Just give me a minute."

After a moment, the vertigo subsided and Clopin stood up. "I believe I can manage on my own now."

"I wouldn't think of putting you in danger, M. Trouillefou," replied the manager, "I insist you lean on my arm. I do have a spare, after all."

Jorg linked his left arm with Clopin's and the two exited the tent, followed closely by Marcel and an anxious Henri.

"Am I the healer here or am I not?" he muttered, half to himself, half to Marcel, "If something goes wrong, I assume no responsibility for it, do you understand? I am not responsible!"

"Oh, relax, Henri," said Marcel, "He'll be fine. It's not as if he's doing cartwheels."

Henri snorted.

"If we're lucky," Jorg was saying, "We shall be able to catch the tail-end of our dear Gizelle's performance. I hear you've met Gizelle?"

"Yes, indeed I have. A very...intriguing person."

Jorg threw back his head and laughed. "He'd be delighted to hear you say that. You know, I don't believe one person who comes to Zelly's performances believes he's really a bearded lady, but he's so amusing to watch on stage that nobody cares. Ah, there he is."

As they rounded a corner Clopin saw Gizelle strutting back and forth across a small, hastily constructed wooden stage. He was dressed, if possible, even more outrageously than before, in an outfit that included a pink-and-blue cloak, lime green slippers with lavender bows, and inky false eyelashes. In front of the stage was a gathering of about thirty peasants listening raptly to the performer sing. Instead of the deep baritone that was his normal voice, he was singing in a shrill falsetto.

"_Completely round is the perfect pearl the oyster manufactures,"_ began the Bearded 'Lady', striking a dramatic pose.

_"Completely round is the wagon wheel that leads to compound fractures,_

_Completely round is the rosy fruit that hangs from the apple tree._

_Yes, the circle shape is quite renowned,_

_And, sad to say, it can be found_

_In the low-down dirty runaround_

_My true love gave to me."_

Zelly looked toward them as they settled themselves at the back of the crowd. He grinned and waved at Clopin, then stepped off of the stage and minced delicately through the seated spectators.

_"Completely square was the velvet box he said my ring would be in,_

_Completely square was the envelope he said farewell to me in,_

_Completely square is the handkerchief I flourish constantly._

_As I dry my eyes of the tears I shed,_

_And blows my nose what's turned bright red"_ Here he paused and theatrically blew his nose on his cloak, then draped it lightly over the head of an audience member.

_"For a perfect square is my true love's head:_

_He will not marry me."_

Having finished making his rounds through the observers, Gizelle spun round on his slippered toes and leapt gracefully back onto the stage, where he sang the final verse with his hands on his hips.

_"Rectangular was the tavern door my true love tried to sneak through,_

_Rectangular was the transom over which I had to peek through_,

_Rectangular was the tavern room I entered angrily,_

_And, rectangular is the wooden box_

_Where lies my love 'mid the mold and rocks_

_They say he died of the chicken pox._

_In part I must agree..." _He peered around at his audience, letting the note hang in the air, then finished with a leer and a shake of his head:_ "One 'chick' too many had he!"_

The audience erupted into laughter and applause. Gizelle blew a kiss to the viewers, and disappeared behind the stage. Jorg turned to Marcel. "That's your cue, boy," he said with a wink, "Pass the hat. We'll be backstage when you're done."

Marcel nodded and hurried off, and Jorg and Henri escorted the gypsy king to a small tent behind the stage, where Gizelle was already removing his false eyelashes.

"Clopin!" he chirped in his affected falsetto, "How lovely to see you on your feet! You're feeling better now, I assume. And I see you've met Jorg. It was good of him to bring you to my show, but, really, he should have let you come by sooner. You missed my latest poem:

"_There was a fair lady named Venus_

_Who, nevertheless, had a--"_

_"_That's enough, Zelly!" interrupted Jorg, "I don't believe M. Trouillefou is quite ready for your poetic creations yet."

Clopin snickered, and glanced over at Henri, who looked scandalized.

"Do you think so, Jorg?" inquired Gizelle innocently, "It went over quite well with the audience."

"Zelly!" gasped Henri, "You didn't really recite that, did you?"

Gizelle patted the blond man on the shoulder and said in his normal baritone, "You're such an old man, Henri. Really, you should loosen up and enjoy yourself more. Don't you agree, Clopin?"

"Forgive me, but I'm a little reticent to express my opinions on people who routinely hammer nails into their chests."

Zelly grinned, "You've seen his act, too, then?"

"No, but he and Marcel gave a particularly vivid description of it."

"Ah. Well, you really must be sure to catch it sometime. But don't eat directly beforehand."

"I believe I'll wait until I can move quickly without getting dizzy. But when I do see it, I'll certainly follow your advice."

At that moment, Marcel ducked through the doorway, carrying the pink and blue cloak and a small wooden chest. "Good take, Zelly. Should feed us for nearly a week."

"Really?" said Jorg, peering over the boy's shoulder into the box, "Impressive, indeed. Perhaps you should be doing more than two shows a day."

"Oh, don't put me through that, Jorg," groaned Gizelle, "You know I hate to wear the corset and face paint."

"Well, it isn't as if we'll be in Paris for long. There are thousands of people here. If you're what they like to see, we ought to put you on stage more often."

Zelly made a face and turned to Clopin. "It isn't the dresses I mind. Actually, I find them quite comfortable. It isn't the performance, either, or the odd looks I get from people on the street. I rather enjoy that, too. But the paint makes my face itch like mad! And these ridiculous restrictive undergarments...I can't even begin to imagine how women can deal with wearing them all the time. Speaking of which, one of the whalebones is poking me in the ribs at this very moment, so you gentlemen had better leave, unless you'd like to watch me change clothes."

"We'll pass on that, thanks," replied Henri quickly, and exited.

"Yes, we'll leave you to your rest, Zelly," continued Jorg smoothly, "but later you and I must meet and discuss extra performances."

Gizelle sighed, "You're such a slave-driver, Jorg. I hope to see you later, Clopin. Enjoy the rest of the carnival."

The gypsy king nodded and waved as they left the tent.

"Nice fellow, isn't he?" said Marcel to Clopin, "Always very friendly."

"Bit too cheerful for my taste," muttered Henri dourly.

"Everyone's too cheerful for your taste."

"If I'm not mistaken, M. Trouillefou," Jorg cut in, "Yves is preparing for his animal show just across the way, there. Let's go to him. He's the only full-blooded gypsy in the carnival, other than myself."

The foursome entered a grassy clearing on the outskirts of the little camp. A small group of children was standing nearby, watching a man lead a bear cub on a leash around in a circle. Jorg waved his third arm at the children. "Scat!" he said, "Wait for the show, will you?" and they scattered.

"They weren't doing any harm," protested the man with the bear, "they were just watching."

"That's fine, as far as it goes," replied the manager, "But if they watch the practice, they won't come to the show. And we do have to eat, you know. Now, come over here and meet our guest."

The man made a small gesture with his right hand, and the bear cub lay down on its stomach, resting its head on its forepaws. The man gently draped the leash across the beast's back and scratched its ears briefly before loping over to Clopin and the others. As he approached, Clopin observed him closely. He was a tall, sturdy-looking man, who appeared to be in his thirties. His long, black hair was swept back in a loose ponytail, and his dark eyes shone brightly in his angular face. There was a glint of gold in his left ear. He greeted Clopin with a handshake and a surprisingly shy smile.

"I'm Yves. Nice to meet you," he said quietly, "We haven't seen many gypsies in the past few weeks. I hope you're feeling better?"

"Much," replied Clopin, "And I'm grateful for the kindness you have all shown me."

"You do realize, of course, that Jorg would charge you for it if he could find a polite way of doing so," said Yves with a sharp glance at his manager.

"Shut up," said Jorg with a scowl, "I don't want to argue with you in front of a visitor." He turned to Clopin. "Yves and I have occasional scuffles," he explained, "He thinks I'm being greedy when I'm merely attempting to look out for his best interests."

Yves opened his mouth as if to say something, then thought better of it. He sighed, then smiled at the gypsy king. "Be that as it may, would you like to see my pets?"

"I'd enjoy that very much," replied Clopin quickly, relieved that the argument seemed to be over.

Yves led them to the bear cub, which raised its head at their approach. He picked up the leash. "This is Cerise," he said, "I've had her for a month now. Say hello, _ma petite_."

The bear rose up on her hind legs and waved a forepaw awkwardly.

"Good girl," said Yves, stroking the little creature's furry head.

"You've trained her well," remarked Clopin, "I've heard of gypsies that had a way with animals before, but I've never seen any, unless you count horse traders."

Yves chuckled. "Well, she's just a baby still. It will be a while before she's ready to perform with the others. But thank you for the compliment." He leaned back and whistled softly, and a small black bird swooped down out of the trees and landed on his shoulder. "This is Boreas, my mynah bird."

The bird cocked its head and peered at the gypsy king with a bright black eye. "Hello," it said in a surprisingly human voice, "Hello!"

Clopin started. "It talks!" he exclaimed.

"Yes," said Yves, "Mynahs can imitate people's voices. Boreas is particularly talkative. Show him what I taught you yesterday, Boreas." He gently touched the bird under the chin.

"_Tshatshimo Romano!_" squawked the bird.

Clopin laughed. "What an intelligent creature! And to think that some people call birds stupid."

"What did it say?" asked Henri.

Yves grinned at him. "He said, 'The truth is expressed in Romani.'"

The animal trainer assumed a more serious expression and turned to Clopin. "It's interesting that you should mention that about birds. That people think they're stupid, I mean. I've found that almost all animals are more intelligent than people give them credit for. Like sheep. My Agnes--"

Jorg interrupted him with a groan, "Are we going to go through this again, Yves?"

Clopin glanced curiously between the two.

Yves smirked, "Jorg doesn't like to hear this story because it proves that he isn't always right. Agnes Dei is my pet lamb. I found her while we were on the road a few months ago. She had just been born, and something was wrong with her back legs. She couldn't walk. The shepherd was going to kill her. But I bought her from him, despite Jorg's vehement objections. I bottle fed her and tended her, and I made her a little cart that her back legs rest in while her front legs are free to move. So now she's able to get around on her own. She's a smart little thing, too. One of the quickest learners I ever trained. In my act, I play the flute and she sways and taps her hooves to the beat. The children adore her."

"But no one could adore her as much as Yves does," said Marcel, "He spoils her rotten."

"She's my little sweetheart," said Yves with a rather fatuous smile, "But just think, if I had listened to Jorg, I never would have gotten her."

"All right, all right, you were right, I was wrong," sighed the carnival manager, "I just wish you didn't enjoy bringing it up so much."

"Where is the lamb now?" asked Clopin to forestall another argument.

"In my tent with the other animals. Resting."

"How many animals do you have?"

"Eleven right now. There's Cerise and Boreas, of course, whom you've met, and Agnes. There's also my horse, Spaniard. Then I have a fox named Reynard, a monkey named Jacques, a cat named Artemis, and four dogs, whom I call my four angels. Their names are Raphael, Uriel, Gabriel, and Micha'el. And I hope to get some rabbits soon. Feel free to visit them anytime."

"Thank you, I'd like that. But I think I'll wait until I've met all the humans here."

Jorg grinned, "Excellent idea, M. Trouillefou."

* * *

So ends Chapter 2 of 4. Thank you, Guille, you're my only reviewer so far. ;-) 


	3. Trouble

A/N: Disclaimer from chapter one still applies. Anachronisms coming thick and fast now..! I would have put this up sooner, but holidays got in my way.

* * *

Kocho leaned against a wall for a moment to catch her breath. A street vendor had informed her that the carnival was on the outskirts of the city, near the south gate. Feeling that time was of the essence, she had been running most of the way. She was nearly at the gate now. She patted the front of her tunic to make sure the money was still there, and was reassured. Now she could walk the rest of the way. 

As she made a move to continue, she heard a man's voice shout, "Hey! Gypsy girl!"

She looked toward the voice and her heart constricted. A soldier! She turned and began to run again, and collided with another of Frollo's men. He grabbed her by the arm and held on. She struggled and cried out in protest, "Let go of me! I'm not doing anything wrong!"

The soldier who had shouted at her hurried up to them, followed by yet another man in armor. Kocho gulped. She was in trouble.

"Where are you going, gypsy girl?" growled the man who had hold of her.

She thought fast. "Uh...my mother is sick...I'm...trying to find some herbs for her, sir."

She tried to make her eyes look wider and more innocent.

"You're not looking for a gypsy man?"

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"We stopped a man last night. A gypsy. With a feathered hat. Long black hair. One gold earring. He knocked me down and ran off. We're looking for him. If you can tell us where he is, we'll reward you."

"How could I possibly know who you're referring to, sir?" answered the girl, "You just described about half the gypsy men in Paris." Including Clopin, she thought, but was careful not to say this aloud. She wondered if she could get any information out of these soldiers by pretending to help them. "Did you notice anything else about him, sir?"

The soldier gave her a look that was somewhere between a smile and a sneer. "It was too dark to see much," he replied, "But he was quick. Maybe a sorcerer, too. I cut him across the ribs before he ran off, but he managed to get away even though he was bleeding like a stuck pig."

Kocho tensed and resisted the urge to punch the soldier. That would not help her or Clopin. And if he was wounded, it was even more imperative that he be found quickly.

"Oh, my!" she managed to say, "How did he do that?"

"Hid on a roof. We thought we had him cornered, but he jumped from rooftop to rooftop and gave us the slip."

One of the other soldiers elbowed him. "She doesn't need to know all that. Shut up."

She raised her eyebrows at the soldier, "Jumped from roof to roof? Are you sure you weren't drinking last night, sir?"

The man glowered at her, and she flinched a little. Oops, she thought, not a good thing to say. She hurriedly continued, "Well, sirs, if he was hurt as badly as you say, surely he couldn't have gotten very far. Perhaps he claimed sanctuary at the cathedral," she suggested, knowing that was the last place Clopin would have gone.

"We looked there. No luck."

The other soldier sighed and said, "She doesn't know anything. We're wasting time."

"Should we take her back to the Palace?"

She prepared to fight. If they decided to arrest her, she would not go peacefully.

"And say we caught a mouse but let the rat go free?" replied the other soldier, "I don't think so. Let her go. We need to keep looking."

The soldiers released her and walked away without even looking back. Kocho dusted herself off and spat on the ground. Cowards, she thought. If I ever see them again, I'll scratch their eyes out. But where was Clopin? Had he really run away over the rooftops? She wouldn't put it past him. But if he was wounded...she shivered. He had to be found. Quickly.

She began to run towards the south gate.

* * *

"How are you feeling, M. Trouillefou?" asked the Dog-Faced Man. 

"Much better, thank you," answered Clopin and smiled.

Gannick, from within a wooden cage, played a convincingly wild Dogman in front of an audience, baring his teeth and roaring, but in private he had a soft, mild voice and gentle blue eyes. He was now crouching comfortably on the floor near Clopin and occupying his hands with weaving straw into a basket. He wore only a sleeveless green tunic that reached his knees, leaving his legs and arms bare to show off the thick brown hair that covered his body from head to toe. Even his face was hairy, with only his eyes, lips, and the tip of his nose showing. He had a nice smile, though. It lit up his whole furry face.

"Have you met everyone?" he asked Clopin.

"Everyone except Joffrin. Well, I only sort of met Pierre. He was asleep."

"He sleeps most of the time. He can sleep through anything."

"Is he really the World's Oldest Man? How old is he?"

"No one really knows. Jorg just bills him as that. You should see his show. Its sort of funny, really. He just lies in a hammock and sleeps for a few hours while lines of people walk through the tent and stare at him. Jorg will stand in there, or get one of the others to, and just recite some of Pierre's life story."

"Everyone should have such an easy job."

Gannick laughed. "Well, he's been working so long, he deserves it. He's been involved with carnivals all his life. He still helps us sometimes, when he's awake. He's pretty spry, too. He can still hammer tent stakes into the ground."

"And what can you tell me about Joffrin?"

"The Tiny Titan," grinned Gannick, "Joffrin's really something. He's only about three feet tall, but he's tough as nails. He's the strongest of any of us, you know."

"How is that possible?"

The Dog-Faced Man shrugged. "People get strange talents, I suppose. Joffrin could pull the wagons along if we ever lost our horses."

"Does he lift weights in his show?"

"Part of it. The second part."

Marcel, who was perched on a stool behind Clopin, laughed. "Yes. The first part of Joffrin's show consists of him challenging the men in the audience to different tests of strength. He always wins."

Gannick nodded. "If he tries to make a bet with you, M. Trouillefou, don't take it. He looks little, but he's all muscle."

"Well, I'm stronger than I look, myself."

"Obviously," muttered Henri, "Or you wouldn't be out of bed and walking yet."

"That's fine," said Gannick, "And you could maybe beat any of us in a fair contest, too. But Joffrin is…I don't know…almost supernatural."

"Oh, don't be weird, Gannick," sighed the carnival manager.

"I'm sorry, Jorg, but I can't help thinking. Do you know the legends about elves and leprechauns and things, M. Trouillefou?"

"I've heard stories of that sort, yes."

"Sometimes I wonder if Joffrin is one of them, or related somehow. You know, in all the stories they're always tiny, but they're cleverer and quicker than all the people they run across."

Jorg shook his head. "Don't mind Gannick, M. Trouillefou. He's…very sensitive and imaginative. Sometimes he gets carried away with his fantasies."

"Fantasy is better than reality," replied the Dogman serenely.

"Speaking of fantasy and reality, Clopin," said Marcel suddenly, "I've heard rumors that there's someone living in the belltower of the cathedral. A monster. Is it true? Do you know?"

Clopin grinned. "The bell ringer is one of the great mysteries of Paris. He exists, but no one knows much about him. He came into Paris with his mother—who was a gypsy, by the way—but she was killed by Judge Frollo, and he has raised the boy ever since."

"Is he a monster?"

"I suppose that would depend on your point of view. I've heard he has a hunched back, and that his face is deformed, from the one or two people who have dared to venture in to see him."

The last comment seemed to catch Jorg's attention. "Really, M. Trouillefou?" he inquired, "How interesting. And you say he rings the bells in the cathedral?"

"Yes," replied Clopin. "He is immensely strong."

"And he has no family to miss him, other than this Judge Frollo?"

"I'd scarcely call Frollo 'family'. Knowing him, he probably bullies and terrorizes the boy."

"So it would be safe to assume he's discontent where he is?"

Gannick's nimble fingers stopped weaving the basket and he looked up at his manager with a frown. "I know what you're thinking, Jorg," he said, "and you can just stop right now."

"What?" said Jorg innocently.

"You leave that poor boy alone," continued the Dogman.

"Oh, Gannick!" protested Jorg, "So righteous, so naïve! But just think of it for a moment…The hunchback has no one to miss him, nothing that he should stay here for. So we invite him to join us…He has the strength to help us transport our equipment, set up our tents…And we provide him with food and shelter and attention…And maybe, in time, we set him up as our newest attraction…The Man Without a Face!"

"Jorg! You're horrible!" gasped Gannick, "How can you?"

"It makes sense though, doesn't it? You have to admit it. We belong together…human oddities like he and you and I. We'd be doing him a kindness."

"A kindness?!" exclaimed Gannick, "I wouldn't wish this life on anyone!"

Jorg scowled, "I had no idea you were so discontent, Gannick. You're free to leave any time you like, you know."

"It's too late for me and you know it, Jorg. I was born the Dog-Faced Boy, and I'll die the Dog-Faced Man. But you can't just drag an innocent into this! You can't ask someone to put himself on display for hordes of…of voyeurs to come and stare at him and leave thanking God they're not him! It leaches the humanity out of you." His voice softened suddenly. "Day after day, people looking at you like you're not a person at all. You are not going to do that to anyone, Jorg. I forbid it for his sake, and I forbid it for yours!"

"You forbid it?" Jorg raised his eyebrows. "Who are you to forbid me anything? I'm the one who runs this carnival, in case you've forgotten."

"I haven't. We're not talking about the damned carnival, Jorg. We're talking about a life! A person's life!"

Jorg began to make an angry reply, then paused. "Alright, Gannick…we're talking about a person's life. But whose life are we talking about? The hunchback's? Or yours?"

Gannick's eyes flashed and he rose to his feet. Clopin realized for the first time then how large and strong he was. He advanced menacingly toward the manager. "Maybe I see myself in him. Maybe I think his chances are better where he is than here with us. Maybe I'm wrong. But I won't sit and watch the crowds steal a person's humanity. And I won't watch you lose your own soul by letting it happen."

He and Jorg stood facing each other for a moment, Jorg's three fists clenched, muscles tensed, Gannick's furry body drawn up to its full height and towering nearly a foot over the manager. Then suddenly Jorg gave way with a sigh. "I don't know what's gotten into you, Gannick," he said a bit wistfully, sitting down, "You've never threatened me before."

"There was never a need before."

"I know your life has been hard, but it wasn't my fault. I wasn't there…"

"I know you weren't, and I don't blame you for what happened when I was little. That's why I won't let you do to someone else what my family did to me."

Jorg sighed again. "I don't want to fight, Gannick. I don't understand what you're saying, but I don't want to fight."

"Doesn't it ever get to you, Jorg? The way people stare at you like you're some kind of freak?"

Jorg smiled. "It's the easiest job imaginable, my friend. You just stand and smile, and people pay you for it. I feel lucky that I have the ability to make my living that way."

"I guess that's the difference between us."

"Exactly. You see horror in the eyes of the people who come to look at you. I see envy."

Gannick smiled, suddenly all softness again. "I wish I were more like you."

* * *

Kocho stared ahead of her at the forest of multicolored carnival tents. There were ten at least, plus a wooden stage and a brightly painted wagon which bore the insignia 'Jorg's Human Oddities.' Peasants of various ages, genders, and appearances were gathered in a large circle among the tents. It appeared that there was a show going on. She attempted to join the crowd, but she was too short to see what was happening and no one would move aside for her to get closer. She glanced around her and spotted a tree a short distance away. She hurried toward it and began to climb. She needed to know who was in the center of that crowd. If it was one of the carnival _rom_, maybe she could get his attention after the show. 

She settled herself on a sturdy branch near the top of the tree. From her perch she could see the show below her. She was disappointed. The performer was not a gypsy. He was a little gadjo in leather armor and he was gesturing at a large rock to the left of him.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he was saying, "Despite the fact that none of the men in the audience have been able to move this rock, I, Joffrin, the Tiny Titan, will be able to shift its position with ease."

Sure, thought Kocho. That rock's almost as big as he is.

She watched as the man stooped over and bent his knees. He encircled the end of the rock with both arms and with a sound like an animal's growl, he hoisted it into the air. After a moment, with a look of intense concentration on his small face, he shifted the weight of the rock so that is rested entirely along one arm. The crowd applauded loudly, and Kocho nearly fell off her perch in amazement. The man lowered the rock to the ground and bowed.

"And now, for my next feat," he began, but Kocho did not bother to listen to what his next feat was going to be.

She had spotted Clopin.

* * *

The gypsy king left Gannick's tent accompanied, as before, by Marcel, Henri, and Jorg. 

"I don't know what got into him," Jorg kept saying. "Gannick's never acted like that before. Never."

"Do the two of you get along well?" asked Clopin.

"Gannick adores Jorg as if he were his father or his big brother," replied Henri. "I would never have believed Gannick would threaten him if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes."

"I hope my presence didn't have anything to do with it."

"None of you understand him at all," sighed Marcel softly. "He's afraid. He's always afraid that anyone he gets close to will turn out just like his family."

Clopin looked at the boy, puzzled.

"Gannick was born covered with hair," explained Marcel. "He was the third child in his family. He says his mother used to tell him that she must have been cursed while she was pregnant with him. He lived in a little town, and his parents kept him inside most of the time. When he did show himself, the town decided that he was a werewolf and they threatened to turn his family out. His uncle came and took charge of him and traveled around with him, showing him for money. He kept him in a cage so no one would be afraid he would come after them. Then Jorg ran into them and he sort of bribed Gannick's uncle into letting him go."

"I wouldn't phrase it that way," said Jorg coolly, "I compensated the man for the loss he was certain to suffer after he permitted me to hire Gannick, a skilled performer, for my own carnival."

"Right, Jorg. Gannick told me you said that first day he was with you that he didn't have to stay in the carnival."

"Oh, don't make me sound charitable, Marcel. You'll ruin my reputation as a businessman. How did you learn all this, anyway? I know I never discussed Gannick's past with the rest of you."

"I was talking to Gannick one time and it all just sort of came out. I was telling him about how my life had been, and I guess he just felt like he could trust me, since we'd been through such similar things."

"What sort of similar things?" Clopin asked the boy gently.

Marcel just shrugged and gave him a wry half-smile. Then he glanced up ahead of them. "Oh, look," he said, "Joffrin's begun his show."

"Ah," replied Clopin, "A distraction." He studied Marcel, and the boy blushed and looked away.

Ahead of them they saw a large number of peasants clustered around the little Joffrin, who was just setting down a large rock. The Tiny Titan was dressed in brown leather armor and a white shirt, and he had leather tape wrapped around his wrists and ankles. His face was broad and friendly, his eyes small, blue, and bright, and his hair was a blond so pale it was nearly white.

"And now," he was saying, "For my next feat I will need a volunteer from the audience…You, sir," he pointed at a large, heavy man standing close to the front of the crowd. "Perhaps you'll be willing to come here and assist me?"

The audience watched curiously as Joffrin bid the man sit on a swing-like apparatus, then climbed onto a rock so that he was above the man's head.

"If you'd be so kind as to lift your feet, sir?" the Tiny Titan asked the volunteer, then he slowly lifted the apparatus into the air so that the man was suspended off the ground and began to swing the man in a slow circle.

"Amazing," said Clopin, "I've never seen anything like it. How does he manage it?"

Jorg chuckled, "He doesn't know himself."

* * *

Kocho stared. Yes, that was definitely Clopin there, on the outskirts of the crowd. Next to him was a man with three arms, obviously one of the carnival gypsies. She uttered a brief prayer of thanks to whatever god or gods might be listening and started to climb down the tree. Suddenly she saw a flash of sunlight reflecting off of something. She paused in her descent to determine what had caught her attention. Her heart leapt into her throat. 

Shoving their way through the crowd of peasants were the three soldiers she had run into earlier. The three soldiers who were searching for Clopin. She bit her lip and clenched the branch so hard her knuckles turned white. They were headed straight for him. It was only a matter of time before they saw him and realized who he was. She had to warn him…but, no, she was helpless. If she shouted out to him or ran across the field to warn him she would only draw the soldiers' attention. She shifted nervously in her perch and waited.

* * *

Clopin started as a familiar, rough voice shouted, "You! So we've finally caught up to you. You miserable rat, you won't give us the slip this time…" 

He tensed as he noticed the three soldiers hurrying toward him and glanced around him for a direction in which to run. Henri placed a hand on his shoulder and muttered, "Don't move…you're too weak, you'd never get away in time."

He started to protest, but Jorg nodded in agreement, "Act as if you don't know what they're talking about. We'll deal with them." He raised his voice and addressed the soldiers. "I beg your pardon gentlemen, but were you talking to me?"

The armed men paused in front of them. One of them scowled at Clopin and replied, "You know who we're talking to. Give up quietly, gypsy, or we'll cut you open the rest of the way."

Jorg raised an eyebrow. "I believe you've mistaken this man for someone else. He doesn't have any knife wounds that **I'm** aware of."

Another soldier glared at Jorg. "That man attacked us last night…And you'd better think twice before defending him. There's a penalty for harboring criminals, you know."

The third soldier sneered, "Aye, that's right. Is it still fifteen lashes or has it gone up now?"

"It's twenty, plus a day in the stocks," chuckled the second soldier.

Jorg crossed two of his arms and slowly reached toward his dagger with the third.

Marcel looked sharply from Jorg to the soldiers to Clopin, then carefully slipped between the gypsy king and his aggressors. "Forgive me, sirs, but this can't be the man you're looking for. He was here with us last night."

"Is that so, boy?" sneered the first soldier, "And what was he doing here?"

Marcel blinked. "He—he works with us. With the carnival."

"As what?"

"Er…He's my partner. In my act. We're acrobats."

"Ah," the soldiers exchanged a skeptical look.

Marcel continued quickly, "We've worked together ever since I was little. He's my…er…cousin. Taught me everything I know." The boy smiled nervously.

"Did he now? We'd like to see some of those acrobatics, if you don't mind."

"You can't!" said Marcel. "I mean…he's sprained his hand. That's why we aren't performing today."

The first soldier shoved Marcel aside and roughly grabbed Clopin by the wrist. "Doesn't seem sprained to me."

Clopin grimaced with pain but managed not to wince or gasp. The soldier tugged on his arm again. "Let's see some of these acrobatics, eh, gypsy?"

* * *

Kocho dropped silently out of her perch in the tree and to the ground. She picked up a large dead branch and tested its weight in her hands. She wasn't used to fighting. But she was not going to just stand there and watch as they arrested her _rom baro_. If they took him, they'd have to take her, too. And she wasn't going to make it easy for them, even if there were three of them.

* * *

Clopin jerked free of the soldier's grasp and glowered at him. Henri's face was turning a vivid shade of red. "Look here," he spluttered, clenching his fists, "You can't just come in here and—" 

Clopin raised his hand. "It is alright, mon ami," he said coolly, dusting off his sleeve, "The gentlemen came to the carnival for a show, as do all our patrons. Marcel and I will give them what they ask." He turned his black eyes on the boy in a warning look.

Marcel nodded. "Whatever you say…cousin."

Clopin linked arms with the boy and led him to a clear space a short distance away.

Marcel hissed, "I'm sorry…this is all my fault…How are we supposed to pull this off?"

"Relax. Your instincts are solid. Clopin has done gymnastics before now. Just cover for me if I stumble from the wound."

"Oh god…"muttered the boy.

"Calm down, lad. It isn't your head on the block. Handsprings."

Marcel gave Clopin a panicked look, then instinctually balanced himself and leapt into a flawless back handspring. Clopin quickly followed suit, heading the other way. For several moments, they performed the exact same moves in the exact opposite directions--handspring, flyspring, planche, diveroll--perfectly in sync with one another, giving the impression that they were mirror images. Then Clopin bent slightly and held his hands out to Marcel, fingers interlaced. The boy gave him a questioning look, as if to say 'Are you certain you're up to that?' Clopin merely gave a short, grim, nod, and the boy took a running start, stepped into the gypsy king's outstretched hands, and propelled himself into the air. He did a double somersault and a half-twist before he hit the ground in a graceful crouch. Clopin winced a little, but without missing a beat, placed his hands on the boy's shoulders and somersaulted over him, landing in front of him in the same elegant final stance.

Jorg was the first to applaud. Henri joined in, giving the soldiers a defiant look. Then a similar sound went up around them, and they realized that Joffrin's audience had transferred itself to them. Marcel stood, smiling triumphantly, and helped Clopin to his feet. The gypsy king crossed his arms and looked to the soldiers.

They advanced toward him. "Think you're clever, don't you?" hissed the first. "Well, a fine gymnast you may be, but that doesn't mean…"

Clopin threw back his head and laughed, interrupting them. He leaned forward with a wicked sparkle in his eyes. "Just try arresting me in front of this lot." He nodded his head toward the applauding peasants. "Think they'll let you?" he glanced at Marcel. "What do you think, cousin? Will our adoring fans let me be carted off to the Palace?"

Marcel grinned, "Never."

The soldier scowled. "Maybe not. But just let me catch you outside this carnival…"

Clopin smirked.

The armed men turned and left reluctantly. "This isn't over," the third shouted over his shoulder. "We'll be watching the streets for you!"

The gypsy king snorted. "Enjoy yourselves."

* * *

Kocho dropped her branch, leaned against the tree trunk with a sigh of relief, and grinned adoringly in Clopin's general direction. She should have known he would never let himself be caught that way. And what an act! She had seen him do flips at the Feast of Fools, but nothing like what he had just done. Of course, he had other things to attend to at the Festival and just now he had been concentrating on acrobatics alone. She watched him with shining eyes as the guards shuffled off. As soon as the crowd had cleared a bit, she would go to him, find out where he'd been, and tell him what she knew about Pylades. She hoped he wouldn't be angry with her for disobeying Esmeralda…

* * *

Jorg and Henri hurried up to Clopin and Marcel, followed by a grinning Joffrin. They all began to speak at once. 

"Brilliant, M. Trouillefou!" exclaimed Jorg, "I am truly impressed. If you ever feel like a change of career, you'll certainly be welcome to join us."

Henri said, "I can't believe you did that! You just got out of bed this morning…How on earth--?!?"

"Wasn't he fabulous?" raved Marcel, "I wish he really was my partner!"

Joffrin laughed heartily, "That was a piece of work, I have to say. The expressions on those idiots' faces…absolutely priceless!"

Clopin smiled wearily at them, then gasped and sagged as the adrenaline wore off. He felt a stabbing pain in his side. Marcel caught him and supported him. "Clopin--! What…?"

Henri grimaced and hurried to the gypsy king's other side. "I was afraid of that. The wound must have reopened while he was jumping around. We have to get him back to my tent…Damn those soldiers!"

Clopin shook his head. "No, no, 'M fine, really…"

"No you're not, you're bleeding again."

They half led, half carried him back into Henri's tent, and Joffrin posted himself by the door, glowering defensively.

* * *

Kocho straightened and stifled an exclamation of horror. What was wrong with Clopin? She remembered one of the soldiers saying they had cut him in the side the night before. The wound must have gotten worse somehow with all the movement of the gymnastic act. She wrung her hands with worry as she watched him being led into a tent, then hurried impulsively after him. 

"And just where do you think you're going?" a voice interrupted her as she reached the tent's entrance. She looked down to see the Tiny Titan blocking her path.

"I…I need to see Clopin," she stuttered, "He's…"

"Now, now, then," replied the man, "A wounded man's tent is no place for a sweet young thing like yourself. You just run along and wait…"

"You don't understand! I'm his…I mean, he's my king and…"

"I don't care if he's your brother. They're stitching him up, and the last thing we need is to have a fainting girl on our hands. Besides, he's a mighty popular man today. Maybe he knows you. Maybe he doesn't. After what I just saw, I'm not taking any chances. Now, move along."

Kocho scowled at the little gadjo. She briefly considered shoving past him. Then she remembered the rock. She sighed in angry defeat and paced away, thinking furiously. What to do now? She groaned to herself as the answer came to her. She would have to run back to the Court and fetch Esmeralda. She at least had Clopin's Skeleton Guards at her call. Kocho sighed again, picturing those emerald eyes glaring at her. Esme was going to be furious with her disobedience. She shook her head in resignation and began to run back the way she had come.

* * *

Thus ends chapter 3 of 4, which may end up being more than that as I am getting continuation ideas now. Thank you to my reviewers: Guille, once more 3, Sunatic (more injury in this chapter, hope you like ;-) ), morph, and Kinzoku.

Must warn you all: next chapter you will see Clopin as you have (probably) never seen him before.


End file.
